


and still have begged for more

by leiascully



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Community: dogdaysofsummer, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-13
Updated: 2006-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:06:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I am soaked."</p>
            </blockquote>





	and still have begged for more

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: post-Hogwarts  
> A/N: The prompt was _Pygmalion_.  
> Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ and all related characters are the property of JK Rowling and Scholastic. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

Sirius comes in and shakes the water from his hair, bright drops on the dark wood of the door and down the bridge of his elegant nose. "I've been at Covent Garden," he says breathlessly, before Remus even asks. "God, it is pissing it down out there. Not a bloody cab to be found. I am soaked."

"You are," says Remus, and comes to Sirius. "Hold still." Sirius is startlingly lovely, his glossy hair weighted down with rain, inkwet against his bronzy skin. Remus brushes the errant strands back behind Sirius' ears.

"What...?" begins Sirius, but trails off and closes his eyes as Remus' fingertips trace his cheekbones. Remus moves his hands over the classic planes of Sirius' face as if he is sculpting him, though the moist skin under his palms is warmer and finer than any clay. Sirius' eyelashes tickle the pads of Remus fingers as he smooths the dark eyebrows above Sirius' clear grey eyes. Sirius shivers a little and leans into the touch.

"There was a man near the theatre," he murmurs against Remus' ticklish wrist. His lips are slightly chapped and damp. "He had a notebook and he kept scribbling it it. It was like a vision of you, someday." Remus' hands keep moving over his face and head, gentle and strong. He plants one kiss on Sirius' brow and strokes it away again with a thumb before his hands move over the back of Sirius' head, cradling the fragile skull under the masses of wet hair. He touches the sides of Sirius' paler throat and pushes the motorcycle jacket off Sirius' shoulders. Sirius moves only to oblige Remus, hypnotized by the hands on the bare damp of his skin. His eyes are still closed and his lashes are clumped together with rain.

Remus undoes the buttons of Sirius' shirt one at a time - they are pearl, and the linen is very fine, one of the last unpatched remanents of the Black wardrobe. Despite the leather jacket, Sirius is drenched. The water makes stripes of translucence where it has run down Sirius' neck, and new stripes appear as Sirius' hair drips. Sirius' chest is broad, with a scattering of dark hair, and warm when Remus lays his cheek against it. He kisses just above Sirius' navel as he untucks the tails of the shirt from Sirius' ever tight pants. Sirius' head drops back as Remus pushes the shirt over his shoulders.

Before the pants, Remus runs his hands down Sirius' calves, as if he's calming a spooky horse, and peels the dingy damp socks from Sirius' feet. Sirius flexes his toes in the rough fibers of their little welcome mat. His eyes are still closed. He has a leather cuff around his left wrist, and he is more Pygmalion, Remus thinks, than Pygmalion ever was, the living statue, the ideal, with his jeans and his bare feet. The wet denim is tight over Sirius' narrow hips and it takes Remus long minutes to work the jeans off. Sirius steps out of them, a god in their tiny foyer, and Remus drags a ready towel from the hatrack and rubs the heat back into Sirius' cooling body. Sirius, restored, pulls Remus to him with the towel caught between them, and kisses Remus hard while his still-wet hair sticks to Remus' face.

"My turn," says Sirius, and his eyes are already dreamy.


End file.
